The debate over government plans to crack down on dangerous dogs in our cities was, for me, timely. Three weeks ago I was the victim of a vicious attack by a black-and-white Staffordshire bull terrier on a London bus.

How such an attack could have come about unprovoked I still do not understand, but despite the shock and confusion the salient details are clear. Boarding the 38 bus from Angel, Islington, to Hackney, I took a seat next to a young man and his dog. The animal was agitated, moving around anxiously and whining; I privately wondered if he'd been training it to fight.

A week earlier a friend had spoken in graphic detail about the "status dogs" she'd seen, forced by their owners to hang from the branches of trees by their teeth, a tactic aimed at strengthening the poor animals' jaws into formidable fighting tools. My neighbour on the night bus, I thought, seemed quite the candidate.

The journey itself passed off uneventfully until its final, terrifying climax. As the bus approached my stop I rose to press the button. Here I made a crucial mistake. As I started to move I looked directly at the dog. As soon as its eyes met mine I knew there was a problem, but it was already too late.

With a guttural growl that turned the stomach, the dog leapt across its owner toward me, teeth bared. It could have been only a split second before the owner took control and pulled it away, but in that moment the animal took a bite, leaving blood pouring down my cheek and out of my nose.

As strangers rushed to assist me I believe I heard the dog's abuser faintly apologise. He can't have been that sorry – he and his four-legged protégé fled.

I was lucky; the wound was superficial. Three weeks, a tetanus jab and a short course of antibiotics later, you'd have to peer closely to notice the small scar on my cheek. But thoughts of what could have been still dominate. That is why legislation to deal with dangerous animals is so important.

Sitting in the hospital with my cheek in bandages, my first thought was for the safety of others. The police took my complaint seriously. They photographed the wound as evidence and searched for man and dog, but so far they have found nothing. They are looking for a needle in a haystack: a mixed-race young man in his late teens or early 20s with a Staffie, not necessarily on a leash. I live behind the Trelawney Estate in Hackney.

The statistics touted last week (in which I suppose I now figure) are frightening: 100 hospital admissions a week following an attack by a dog; a twelvefold increase in the number of complaints to the RSPCA about dog fights; 900 dogs seized by police in London alone last year. In this climate, government plans, including extra training for police and compulsory microchipping for dogs are more than welcome, but will they really address the root cause of this new menace?

Let's take a healthy dose of realism here. Neat solutions packaged up for middle-class families, such as the introduction of a compulsory insurance scheme to compensate victims, will be ignored on the estates of east London.

Purchased from a reputable breeder, a Staffordshire bull terrier can cost up to £1,000. Which of the young owners on the Trelawney can come up with that sort of money? These dogs are bred and bought on the black market. Whatever legislation is passed in Westminster, they will remain unleashed, unchipped and uninsured.

The government would spend its time more profitably addressing the real reasons why people own and train dogs in this way. Why does a young man feel that he can walk his own streets safely only with an aggressive canine in tandem? What happened to me was astonishing, terrifying, outrageous. But so is the sense of alienation and fear felt by the owners of these "status dogs".

The swelling number of these "weapons" is surely a sign of police success in dealing with knife and gun crime. Let's hope this legislation is a first step towards a similar leap forward when it comes to dealing with dangerous dogs.

You may ask why I chose that seat on the bus, the one next to the young man with the growling mutt at his feet? It is a fair question and one I have asked myself numerous times. But in Hackney these dogs are part of the furniture. Long-term residents are used to their presence and we live among them. Until last month I didn't consider that they could present such a danger to me.

The attack, however, has changed my mind. And until the problems of inner city poverty and low (or no) aspiration are addressed, then by itself legislation will do little to tame the terror dogs. What all this points to is a social scar and one far deeper than the bite on my left cheek.

Hannah Fearn is a reporter and feature writer for Times Higher Education magazine